Shattered Dreams
by Dee13
Summary: A malkavian becomes unable to cope any longer with the nightly game.
1. Default Chapter

Shattered Dreams

Chapter One

My first attempt. Please R&R. Tips and pointers welcome.  
This chapter is [NC-17] for violence. 

* * *

To the casual observer he seemed little more than a black tear in the almost black sky. No lights trespassed on the scene, nor was there any noise save for the low howl of the wind, and the gentle lapping of the waves. 

The stranger was slight, and wore only a black silk shirt and pants, but he showed no signs of feeling the cold. His stance was slightly slumped, with his arms hanging limply, but his head remained upright whilst he stared out into the ocean, seemingly oblivious to all else. 

Perhaps he wished for no-one to see the tears in his eyes. 

The pier he stood on, a construct of two inch wide wooden boards perhaps four yards long, had been abandoned years ago with the building of the new docks. On the shore lay signs of the pier's past life: broken husks of barrels, torn netting, twisted and fraying ropes, and the skeleton of a wrecked boat. Timid urban explorers, and amateur historians were deterred from visiting by the derelicts who made the area their home, whilst the pier itself, with its rotting planks and fraying ropes, was almsot wholly deserted. Once the boats and people had come daily, but now no-one came, saving for the stranger, and the rats. 

But tonight was different, for the pier had not just one, but two visitors. The second moved slowly and delicately, so as not to be heard, but so lost was the first in his contemplation of the waves that the effort was wasted. The second man's reasons for caution quickly became apparent though, as he reached into his jacket and pulled out a heavy looking pistol. 

The stranger did not turn from his observation of the ocean. 

"It is time," the gunman intoned, his voice as dead as the surroundings. 

Now the stranger turned, his eyes straining in to see who called to him in the darkness. The man holding the gun had already taken aim. The stranger's eyes relaxed suddenly, and a sigh escaped his lips. 

"Is it?" 

There was no answer, save the click and bang of the gun. 

The stranger fell to his knees, blood leaking from his chest. In the darkness any emotion on his face passed unseen. But he raised his head, with obvious effort, to meet his killer's gaze. His mouth opened to speak, but it was not be. 

Another shot - this time to the left temple. His face twisted in agony - features once considered beautiful marred forever more. But all this was lost in the darkness as well. He hovered a moment on his knees, swaying back and forth, before flopping down face first on the pier. Blood leaked from his head and body, flowing through the cracks in the boards and into the dark water below. His shoulders twitched a couple of times before all movement ceased. 

The killer smiled, and slipped his weapon back into his jacket. With his other hand he pulled out a cigarette, and placed it in his mouth. He fumbled a moment with his lighter, before the end of the cigarette caught light. 

He drew on the cigarette for a few seconds, withdrew it, and exhaled. The smoke hovered in the air a moment, before dissipating. He gave a grunt of satisfaction, but the smile on his lips was slightly more muted now. 

"It's always time." 

He took another draw on the cigarette before flicking it away. Without another word he turned and walked away from the pier, disappearing into the night. The stranger's body lay unmoving on the pier, and once again it had no-one but the rats for company. 

* * *

The pale blue glow of the monitor was all that stood in the way of total darkness. Its eerie half-light caught only the raised areas of the man's sharp features, giving him a gaunt unhealthy appearance. His hair was short, neat, and deep black in hue. His eyes, two black orbs sunken deep into his skull, were fixed steadily forwards, watching the words appear on the screen as his fingers hit the keys at speed. Apart from his fingers, and the occasional blink of those dark eyes, one might think him dead. 

He was aware at the back of his mind that it was quite a few hours past closing time. He recalled hearing the church bells toning midnight a while ago; possibly they had toned one o'clock and he had missed it. In the last ten minutes though, he had become aware of a sharp stabbing pain in his left temple. This was annoying - he had thought the headaches to have stopped. No matter - he was almost finished. An aspirin would be nice, but he could wait. 

"Access denied." 

"Access denied." 

"Welcome drf3." 

His eyes skimmed over the screen, then came to a halt. 

"That's my baby." 

He grinned, or at least his teeth showed. Crawford would reward him for this. 

"Save file. Logout. Shutdown. Get aspirin." 

His fingers hit the keys, and he waited for the machine to shut down before standing up to hunt down the aspirin. With monitor dead his features were no longer made ghoulish by the pale blue light - now he was but a patch of shadow moving through the dark empty building. 

Quite familiar with the outlay of the building, he encountered no difficulty navigating the office in darkness. Stepping smartly around a swivel chair, he reached out and opened the medicine cabinet. 

"Aspirin, aspirin, asp... aha!" 

He seized the bottle, twisted off the cap, dropped two pills from the bottle onto his palm, and twisted it shut in one fluid motion. The bottle was replaced on the shelf, and he downed the pills. 

"Hmmm. Home?" 

* * *

His fingers thumped out a lazy beat on the dashbord, keeping in time with the cassette of "Anatomy of a Murder" playing in the car's cassette deck. Normally he'd have waited for the headache to pass, but he'd just picked up the tape, and was keen to hear it. Besides the Duke's playing was soft and relaxing. Unlike Ellington himself he reflected with a smirk. 

It was a clear night, and the roads were quiet at this time. Driving was actually quite a pleasant activity under such circumstances. The fact he was waiting on a light when there was clearly no need gave him pause for thought however. 

"To Hell with it!" 

He hit the accelerator, and drove through the red, swinging the wheel to the right, and turning down the high street. The shop windows were lit up, even at this time, and the streetlights were frequent, making it less obviously night time. It was only the closed doors, and absence of people that made it much different from the day. 

Jake found the notion strangely melancholy, but pleasing nontheless. 

"Romantic I guess," he muttered to himself. "I'm not missing anything much." 

He had a party to go to. Perhaps he was a little late, but he knew his host - the party would still be going - in fact it was probably at its most interesting by now. So why miss more than necessary? 

He flicked down the mirror on the sunshade and checked his appearance - blond locks, blue eyes, pale almost white skin, thin understated lips, and a sharp well defined nose. 

"Looking good." 

His foot hit the pedal hard, and the red Citroen fired forward towards its destination. 


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter 2  
  
[NC-17] for sure this time. Oh, it does contain yaoi. Nothing too explicit, but I thought I'd say just in case this offends anyone.  
  
R&R, anyone?  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
"Michael. How's it going?"  
  
"Jake darling, you made it. How are you?"  
  
Michael, stood in the doorway smiling sweetly, his long soft brown hair fluttering behind him still, so light it was. He was naked save for an amaranth sarong, and all too evidently unashamed of the fact. His soft brown hair reached down to his naked chest. He possessed a slim build, and pale hairless skin like Jake, but the face was rounder, his features smoother and lacking the same intensity as Jake's. It was the pale watery green eyes - they met one face on, but there was the feeling there was just nothing behind them.  
  
But he was still beautiful - his body was a veritable work of art. Jake had known Michael for years, and disliked him intensely, but even he hesitated speaking to Michael. His previous self-confidence was in pieces. He knew all too well that those such as Michael could play freely with people's emotions, but after all these years he still knew no way of stopping it. Is this their strength being used against me, or merely my own weakness? I must speak.  
  
"Oh, just the usual," he managed.  
  
"But your hair. Oh I like it - blonde really suits you, you know that?"  
  
"You don't think it looks a little off with my complexion."  
  
"No way - you look an absolute honey. It's the blue eyes that offset it I think. Come on in."  
  
Jake stood still a moment regarding Michael harbouring misgivings, but then stepped in regardless. The degenerate threw a good part, even if he was an effete libertine that made Quentin Crisp look like Burt Reynolds.  
  
"Enter freely..."  
  
Jake glared at Michael a moment, irritation overcoming weakness.  
  
"Jake darling, I am just playing. The nightly game does not intrude into my parties you know that."  
  
He stepped forward and rested his hand on Jake's arm. Jake tensed, but didn't remove the hand.  
  
"Crawford's here though."  
  
Jake eyebrows contracted. He pulled away the arm with a sharp jerk, his fist already starting to clench.  
  
"Crawford," he intoned hollowly.  
  
"Yes, Crawford. And I don't care what's..."  
  
But Jake wasn't listening - he was already striding past Michael into the main room.  
  
The scent of roses that clung to the air, and a record player by the door filed the room with the baroque tones of "Les Folies d'Espagne". The dark silk curtains had been closed, and the lights dimmed, but the light was sufficient for Jake to make out two young men lying together in a passionate embrace. They were beautiful, to a degree that almost bordered on effeminate, and young - perhaps still to see their twentieth year. Jake watched a moment then turned away, continuing his search for Crawford.   
  
He slid quietly around the room, taking in more couples - Michael's guests were of a kind with the first two Jake had seen, but there were also a few older gentlemen, and a couple of girls. This pair looked young, perhaps in their late teens, but Jake doubted it. Both were engaged in a very un-childlike act with one of the young male guests. The sweet scent, the beautiful surroundings, the dignified tones of Lully's masterpiece all seemed degraded by this, and Jake looked away. "Old, young - they're all cattle" only went so far for him. Had circumstances been different he would have talked to Michael about this, but now all he cared about was... there he was, sitting in the middle of the room, quite at ease.  
  
Crawford hadn't changed a bit - same dark blonde hair, same black suit, same dark green pitiless eyes, and that same cold contemptuous smile Jake had grown to love, and later to despise. Even now seeing him again made him feel weak.  
  
One of Michael's pretty boys was clinging to his side, with lips pressed to Crawford's neck. Jake fixed his gaze on this one a moment taking in the short black hair and piercing dark eyes, and a slim firm body that he would have admired were circumstances different; but then he returned his attentions to Crawford, who had at last deigned to meet his stare. The smile grew broader in recognition, whilst the green eyes glinted with menace. He glanced sidelong at his beau again - a gesture seemingly more for Jake's benefit than his own.  
  
"Staying Jake?"  
  
Jake vision was blurring. Anger burned deep inside him, eating away at his self-control. How he wanted to tear apart the guy hanging on Crawford's side, and then... and then....  
  
"Perhaps you'd like to join us?"  
  
Tears. Dammit, he blinked angrily, trying to keep his composure.  
  
"You shouldn't really cry whilst wearing contacts Jake. Or so I understand."  
  
Jake turned away, only to meet the gaze of a number of the guests who had turned from whatever activities they had been previously engaged in to watch this play out. Michael had entered the room by now as well, and stood in the corner, sucking his finger pensively, unsure what to do. Crawford called over to him.  
  
"Jake was telling me how much he enjoyed your parties Michael. He really enjoys getting to put himself about I think, but don't we all? It means we make a few mistakes of course, but c'est la vie."  
  
His stomach seemed to lurch. He shouldn't feel sick - he knew this - but everything seemed so off balance and wrong he found himself wanting to throw up. He stumbled back a few steps, bumping into one of the watching couples. Angrily, he seized one of the pair and threw him across the room. He hit the wall hard, and slid down the wall and a low moan of pain passing his lips.   
  
Regaining his self-control a little, Jake ran through the doorway, down the hall, and out the main door, ignoring Michael's shouts, and Crawford's laughter.   
  
Inside, Crawford lay back contentedly, his eyes softening, and his lips smoothing into an almost beatific smile.  
  
"You shouldn't let his sort in so often Michael. They're always upsetting things. Like the old ones in a way - can't let go of the past."  
  
"You think so? He sees himself as a man of the future I gather."  
  
Crawford laughed.  
  
"Indeed he does. That's perhaps the most Neolithic conceit he clings to."  
  
"Well, yes. You're enjoying the party then?"  
  
Crawford considered this, or at least he considered the face of his partner.  
  
"Oh yes, it is quite delightful. But my lovely partner here is more than just a pretty face."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
Michael regarded Crawford suspiciously wondering what trick he had pulled now. In answer, he slid his hand into a side pocket, and pulled out a computer disk, his fingers moving dexterously twisting it around his hand.  
  
"We have the file," gasped Michael, forgetting himself for a moment.  
  
Crawford grinned, passed Michael the disk, and then turned his attentions back to the man clinging to his side. His arms slid around the narrow waist of his partner, as he leaned forwards and they kissed tenderly. Their lips remained locked, while hands ran threw Crawford's hair, and pulled him closer.  
  
Michael, standing on the sidelines, looked irritated. He forced a loud sigh, but this yielded no results. Throwing tact to the wind he gripped Crawford's shoulder.   
  
"Crawford, we need to see what's on there right now," he yelled, unmindful of his guests.  
  
But still there was no response. Desperate he tried to pull them apart, but was pushed away by Crawford, who turned to regard Michael with some irritation. At last a response, but not much of one alas.  
  
"I got the file. I'll decide when I look at it, Michael!"  
  
Crawford turned away again, and Michael, realising he was completely forgotten, along with the business of the night, left the room his right hand clenching the disk tightly to his chest. His eyes were narrowed, and his other hand was clenched in a fist, his fingernails pressed into his hand so tightly they drew blood. 


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three  
  
=============  
  
Jake loses control in a spectacularly bloody fashion.   
  
Crawford is forced to return to business only to be disappointed.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *   
  
Blood. So much blood. The walls were painted red with the precious fluid.  
  
And at the heart of this ghastly charnel scene sat a blood-soaked Jake, slowly rocking back and forth unmindful of the carnage.  
  
"Not me. Not me. No perfumes of Arabia required, ahaha!"  
  
Around the alleyway where he sat were scattered the remains, for "corpses" was no description of these gory husks, of an indeterminate number of people.  
  
"Solitude at an end, blended together, no pain, no hurt. All is... happiness. But the night continues, and more come to me to receive this sacrament."  
  
In fulfilment of his prophecy, a small figure in a short black dress appeared at the corner, a young blonde girl, wearing badly applied lipstick and make-up, and carrying a handbag that'd look less out of place on her mother's shoulder. Her eyes looked glazed, and her movements awkward.  
  
"Are you lost child? Lost and alone, abandoned by those who do not care? Come, I will ease your pain."  
  
His dulcet tones though seductive should not have disguised the desperation in his voice, nor should they blot out the evidence of the girl's eyes; should not. She hovered a moment, then in defiance of all sanity, she stepped forward, ready to receive his sacrament. She knelt in the blood before the still rocking Jake, and bowed her head, casting away the handbag.  
  
"Quickly my saviour. Quickly, for my heart beats with fear."  
  
There was no emotion in her voice as she spoke, but tears trickled from her eyes, and ran down her nose. A single droplet of water hung from the tip, poised to fall.  
  
"My child."  
  
There were tears in Jake's eyes too, as his hands reached out for her neck. A quick tug, an audible snap, and her body crumpled to the ground, her dress soaking up the blood beneath her.  
  
He rose, paused a moment, then completed the sacrament.  
  
"And time weaves his winged chariot on through the night, now angry that another has escaped his torments. But he claims more victims, for we cannot escape him, not by ourselves. For we have given him his power...we have given him his power, and...and can't take it back."  
  
His voice was dropping, so that the last sentence was barely more than a whisper. He sat back down, closed his eyes, and began to rock once more. The girl's corpse lay unmoving, and unmoved.  
  
"Michael. Where are you Michael," he murmured.  
  
"Behind you Jake."  
  
"Of course you are. I hear your voice even when you do not speak."  
  
Laughter.  
  
"Do I amuse you, Michael?"  
  
"No, you're too pathetic to be amusing any more."  
  
"Pathetic. Yes, truly pathetic - a pitiable specimen that serves to meet the morning sun."  
  
"I'm not arguing."  
  
"Michael, you're normally so much... nicer than this."  
  
"Save it. You've just killed ten people - pardon me if I find Jake darling a little inappropriate."  
  
"But isn't that..."  
  
"I don't want to hear it. Look, perhaps this was a mistake, I don't know. Look, just take this."  
  
"What is it Michael?"  
  
Silence.  
  
"Michael?"  
  
Jake opened his eyes, and looked around. There was no one there. Looking down he could see a computer disk had been pressed into his hand. He smeared his other hand in blood again then started marking his face with the vitae. But any certainty that he had felt was gone now. He tried to giggle, but it came out hollow. Sighing, he stood up, and shook some of the blood off his clothes.   
  
"Whatever can you be up to Michael?"  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *   
  
Crawford sighed with exasperation, then bellowed at the top of his voice, "Michael!"  
  
Whilst he waited, he knelt down again to take a closer look at the problem. His lover lay across the table, his eyes wide open, but blank. His body remained perfectly stationary, and his skin was ice cold. He'd been like this for the last ten minutes. Crawford had gotten used to it by now, but it still annoyed him intensely.  
  
"Michael!"  
  
"So soon you call me back Crawford? Tarry not with me rash wanton, please."  
  
"Are you finished?"  
  
"Nay, thou shalt not from this grove till I torment thee for this injury."   
  
"There isn't even a 'nay' in that line, Michael. Whatever's gotten into you?"  
  
"What visions have I seen! Methought I was enamoured of an ass."  
  
"I'm sure. Are you going to keep this up much longer?"  
  
"Philistine!"  
  
"Because I don't care to see the Bard's verses polluted by your usage?"  
  
Michael's eyes glinted.  
  
"What was it you wanted Crawford?"  
  
"To look at this disk of course. My partner is indisposed at present."  
  
He waved at the table where his partner lay unmoving. Michael's eyebrows rose.  
  
"Whatever's come over him? Is he..."?  
  
"He does it all the time. Lapses into some state where reality cannot intrude for an hour, then comes to spouting all sorts of strange notions at me."  
  
"How strange. Part of the blood?"  
  
"Stop fishing Michael."  
  
Michael smiled, deigning to look slightly embarrassed.  
  
"It matters little anyway - I do not succumb to such...silliness."  
  
"I thought it was a gift."  
  
Crawford stared levelly.  
  
"Let's not play games Michael. We both know that's so much..."  
  
"As you say," Michael interjected smoothly, "but at any rate I've already glanced at the disk - it's worthless."  
  
"What?!"  
  
"The file's corrupted."  
  
Crawford's left eye started to twitch.  
  
"Corrupted?"  
  
"It's a bad file. No-one's fault really darling, but it just ain't happening."  
  
"Why are you making excuses for him?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"I gave him his first assignment of any real importance, and screws up."  
  
"But...."  
  
"I suppose it's my fault for expecting any better of someone who can't even stay compos mentis for more than a few hours at a time."  
  
"Perhaps if you gave him more reason to stay in the real world he'd..."  
  
"Quiet! I've given him everything he desired, and he repays me thusly."  
  
"He's your childe. He's..."  
  
"Useless. I have explained to him the consequences of his condition; the treachery that lurks behind every friendly face; the prospect of death that hangs over us all; the powers that manipulate us like puppets from behind the scenes..."  
  
"Pff!"  
  
"I'm funny now, am I?"  
  
"I'm just comparing this to the 'everything he desired'."  
  
"Laugh it up. He made his choice in full knowledge of the consequences."  
  
"Really," asked Michael, rather surprised.  
  
"Really."  
  
Michael sat down at one of the seats by the table, and gestured for Crawford to take the other.  
  
"No, I think I will be leaving now."  
  
"So soon? What about your childe?"  
  
"I care not. Throw him out whenever you choose. Actually, if he manages to wake up, tell him to do something about getting the file some other way."  
  
Crawford marched out without another word, leaving Michael sitting over his childe. Michael laid a hand on Crawford's childe's forehead thoughtfully.  
  
"So cold."  
  
He stared out the door a moment then smiled.  
  
"When thou wakest, let love forbid."   
  
He removed his hand, and sat back lost in thought.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *   
  
The stranger's eyes flickered open. The pool of blood had dried by now, but it was still dark. The sound of the waves lapping against the beach had not changed.  
  
"It's not time yet."  
  
But he did not smile. His eyes closed again. 


End file.
